


The Damn Dog Biscuits

by kee_writestrashh



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-27
Updated: 2018-04-27
Packaged: 2019-04-28 18:13:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14454960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kee_writestrashh/pseuds/kee_writestrashh
Summary: Drabble Request: Ramsay and Damon at the pet store. [In other words: this is why we can't have nice things]Catch me over on tumblr @kee-theyoungwolf if you want chat it up or request things.





	The Damn Dog Biscuits

 

> A lot could be said about Ramsay Bolton. If they knew the real Ramsay Bolton. But knowing the real Ramsay Bolton was an honor that was only bestowed upon one poor, unfortunate soul; Damon 'Dance-for-me' Kelly. Being Ramsay's keeper was a task. Because you could never know what the fuck was going to happen when Ramsay texts and says _[Hey douche. Let's go out for beers.]_ This could mean simply going out for beers. Or it could mean brutally stabbing a guy for spilling beer on your shoes. Always such a gamble. But one that Damon had learned to handle since the two met at the age of 5.

Today, beers at 11 am, was just beer at 11 am. Apparently Ramsay had had a shit morning at work, and skipped out for lunch early... and stayed much later than his 1 hour lunch break. But, it didn't really matter. Ramsay didn't have to work. He was rich already. Well, his father was. And Ramsay would get a hunk of it when Roose died. Ramsay's elder brother, Domeric, would get the weapons company the Bolton's had founded way back when. Ramsay though... Ramsay was getting the underground part of the business. The Red King's. The violent crime syndicate that kept the streets running red. And Damon was Ramsay's right hand.

"So, what's next?" Damon asked, squinting against the afternoon sun. 

"Dunno. Thought we could take a walk?" Ramsay shrugged, glancing along the street. He pushed his sunglasses up his nose and set off in the opposite direction of the bank he worked at.

Damon fell into step beside him, rubbing his eye and lighting a cigarette. He glanced across the street where a new pet store had opened recently. Today they were doing 'puppy adoptions' out front and taking down names for a 'Pup Crawl' next weekend. Ramsay paused following Damon's gaze. He stepped off the side walk and crossed the street, glancing the mutts over. They were all either too small, or too kind looking to turn into man eating beasts like Kira and Willow.  He was brought to by the sound of a tinkling bell, looking around to see Damon entering the store as he flicked his cigarette away from him. Ramsay followed, pulling his sunglasses off and walked over to the dog section that Damon was at. 

"Need a new toy or something? Or how about a leash for that whore of yours?" Ramsay hummed, pulling a leather leash from the rack it hung on. 

Damon rolled his eyes, "How about one for you and your weird ass fetishes?" He quipped, nodding at a pink one. "With a matching collar and cute little heart shaped tag that says ' _Daddy_ '."

"I think it would look good on you." Ramsay nodded sagely, placing the leash back and glancing around. That's when his eyes fell on you. In the corner, arranging 'gourmet' dog biscuits in their containers. He tilted his head slightly to get a better look.

"Uh, earth to Rams? Anyone there?" Damon said, lobbing a squeaky toy at the back of Ramsay's head. 

Ramsay shook his head, looking down at the plush squeaky toy at his feet. Darth Vader. He chuckled, stooping down to pick it up. He squeezed it and turned to Damon who held up a Iron Man squeaky plush.

"Can I get this, daddy? Can I please?"  Damon asked in a mock child's voice and a mock pout.

"Shut up." Ramsay huffed, tossing the squeaky toy in his hand back at Damon, and walking over to the dog buscuits and stopping beside the pretty young thing organizing them.

You glanced up at the man who stopped beside you. You felt the heat rush through your cheeks and put on a big smile. "C-can I help you?"

Ramsay glanced over at you and gave a charming smile, "Actually, yes, uh..." he paused, glancing at your name tag, "(y/n). I have a couple dogs. They are _very_ picky eaters. They never seem to like treats when I offer them." He picked up a goofy colored orange biscuit. "Pumpkin spice." He hummed, dropping it back in the container, "well, they are not basic white bitches, that's for sure."

You let out a loud laugh, looking at Ramsay fondly. Oh, how you needed that laugh. Sorting dog treats was not on your top 10 list of things to do. He gave you a sly grin, making your face flush a deeper shade of red. You could have looked at that face forever. But his eyes... may the lord have mercy on your soul. Subconsciously you darted your eyes to his left hand, noting there was no ring... You realized you had been quiet for too long. 

"Well, I won't pretend to be an expert at..." you started but stopped as an angry squawking came from the other end of the shop.

You and Ramsay both looked quickly. Ramsay gave a tiny groan as he watched a parrot doing its best to kill Damon. 

"I told them that bird was a fucking psycho!" You gasped, abandoning dog treats, and grabbing up the closest hard item you could... a half put together scratching post.

"Ramsay!! Save me! This is not how I wanted to die today!!" Damon yelled, trying to wave the giant bird off.

Ramsay simply stood there, watching Damon fight this bird, and you swinging the scratching post like some ax swinging maniac. He bit back the smirk as you swung, missing bird and hitting Damon in the side of the head.

"Oh my god, I am so _so_ sorry!" You gasped, dropping the post and covering your mouth with your hands.

"Don't drop the weapon! Ramsaaaaaay!" Damon shouted, holding his jaw, still trying to wave away the bird.

"Evasive maneuvers, Dame!" Ramsay called, watching the mad Macaw.

You stood, dumbfounded, watching the bird, finally retreat back to its original post. You turned to Damon, "Are... are you okay? What happened?" You said quickly, trying not to laugh at what the hell had just happened.

"I... told it... it was a punk." Damon panted, shooting a glare at Ramsay who simply shrugged.

You couldn't help but laugh, stooping down to pick up the scratching post. "I am so sorry." You said again, returning the scratching post to where you got it and returning to the dog biscuit display. "I told them that bird was not safe to be let out. That and I just really didn't want to spend half my day cleaning up bird shit." You turned to Ramsay who wore a bemused expression as he watched you, go back to what you had been doing. You felt his eyes on you and cast around for things to say.

However, before you could open your mouth Damon leaned against the display, knocking it over. You gasped, slipping on a round dog biscuit. Ramsay reached out to catch you, but he slipped too as Damon fell into him. All three of you went down with a thundering crash. And that was when you felt it. The hellfire that hit as the sound of cracking graced your ears. Wrist on fire and tears immediately springing to your eyes. In the back, the damn parrot was unmistakably laughing at you.

"Are you okay?" Ramsay asked, shoving Damon off of him.

"I- I think my wrist is broken." You said in a small voice, blinking the tears of pain away.

"Damon, call the ambulance." Ramsay snapped, sitting up on his knees and wiping biscuit crumbs off the front of his shirt.

"No. No, I'm fine." You said quickly, holding your wrist, and sitting up slowly.

"No, they're in my pocket. Just... sit tight." Ramsay said, reaching out and taking your elbow, to pull you up with him.

It was an awkward five minutes that passed waiting on the ambulance to show up. You were embarrassed. And yet the two men seemed very nonplussed by anything that happened. As if it were some kind of normal day for them. They sure were interesting. The paramedic helped you in the back of your truck and examined your hand, making you hiss in pain and try your hardest not to curse the man.

Ramsay and Damon stood outside the shop, watching you. Again, the heat rushing to your cheeks as you and Ramsay made eye contact before the ambulance doors shut.

Ramsay shook his head slightly, giving Damon a sideways glance. "You are literally the worst. What do you have to say for yourself?"

"I'm buying that damn bird."    

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Well Reader, hope that broken wrist heals fine. ;D


End file.
